Little successes, little goals

As predicted, I was up almost a pound last week. That was actually not too bad. Sorry, everyone, for coming into Weight Watchers naked but I just couldn’t afford to weigh my clothes.

I’m already behind in my planning for the week, which excites Perfectionist Me who likes to throw herself on the nearest divan and declare, “It’s no use! It’s too late!” followed closely by Bitter Betty with “Surely there’s someone or something we can blame.” Enter Squidward: “Its you. You’re the one to blame with your lack of self control and disorganized life.”

I’m so sick of that play. It’s Beckett without any of the charm.

All the charm.

Tonight, I’m going to get on my bike trainer for half an hour. I’m going to make a salmon dinner and then get the heck out of the kitchen. I’ll drink four more glasses of water. Finally, I’ll plan my food for tomorrow and have it ready for the morning.

Today, I ate my feelings…but with a pound of blueberries instead of a pound of chocolate. I made two phone calls that I’ve been dreading and frustrated about. I admitted that there was nothing I could do about another problem, and let it go. I made some progress on my writing project. Not as much as I’d like, because I’ve been Blue and Blah all day. I drank three full glasses of water, and sent my dad a card.

Hey! In a semi-mentally-paralyzed way, I totally rocked this day.




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